


backs to the wall

by orphan_account



Series: backs to the wall 'verse [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 08:03:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they sleep together there’s not so much of the sex, and more of the lying in the dark trying not to be terrified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Truly, I have gone the full Shingeki at this point. Also a modern au.

The first time they sleep together there’s not so much of the sex, and more of the lying in the dark trying not to be terrified. It’s only that she likes Mikasa so much, that it’d taken her months to work up the courage to ask her out, that being with her was amazing.

Connie kept saying, ‘you’ll know for sure when you sleep together’ completely certain. But she knew already, she didn’t want anyone’s opinions changed.

But Mikasa’s mouth tastes like the wine they had at dinner, and her back hurts a little from being pressed up against the door for so long. The kisses are slow and sweet, and Mikasa trails from the corner of her mouth to her throat.

“Do you want--?” Mikasa starts, and Sasha can feel her whole face heat up, worse - or maybe better - the heat unspooling low in her belly.

“Yes,” she stumbles out. “Yes, please.”

And Mikasa grins, the first wide, brilliant grin she’s seen from her.

She was in so much trouble.

Mikasa leads her through the dark apartment and part of her wants to stop and look at the things Mikasa decides to hang on her walls, but the rest of her. Well, the rest of her has other plans.

The bedroom door clicks shut and Mikasa doesn’t even go for the lights, she reaches behind her for the zipper on her dress and shrugs out of it in one rippled movement. It’s not really panic that Sasha feels for a split, but whatever it is dissolves away the minute Mikasa holds a hand out for her.

She doesn’t really know if she tugs her shirt off or if Mikasa does all the undressing but at some point she trips over the mattress in absolutely nothing, with Mikasa braced over her in nothing but her underwear. It’s not that she can’t breathe when Mikasa kisses her, it’s that she doesn’t care anymore. Mikasa’s hair is soft between her fingers, and her hands on her thighs are warm. She shivers when her fingers trail up her thighs, and she can trace the grin against her mouth when her hips arc off the bed.

Sasha’s not a talker in bed but right now she feels like she could be, like she could tell Mikasa how long she’s been in love with her, and how good this feels, and please please _please_ don’t stop. She _wants_ , wants the feel of Mikasa under hands, wants the feel of her hips against hers, wants her mouth every where at once.

Mikasa trails slow kisses down her chest, over her stomach, pauses and looks up at her through her lashes, and Sasha’s fingers twist in the sheets as she lowers her face between her thighs. She can’t keep quiet, presses her heels into the mattress, tries to control herself but can’t. Mikasa’s grip is tight on her hips, but it doesn’t--

Her fingers twist in Mikasa’s hair and she can feel it, the pleasure building up with every sweep of her tongue, and it’s not perfect, but it’s so much, so much of Mikasa, of not just seeing her and feeling her, but hearing her, knowing that she’s enjoying this, too. And it’s catching the sight of her grin before she presses a kiss to her thigh just as everything washes over her, as the heat sweeps through her, as she sighs back onto the mattress and her limbs go loose.

The mattress sinks and Mikasa drops into the space beside her, head on her shoulder, leg thrown over hers.

“You’re still wearing stuff,” Sasha says, slow and sleepy after a moment.

Mikasa smiles, a small satisfied smile and kisses her shoulder. “You can take it off me later.”

 


	2. snapshots of the morning after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apparently wrote the morning after.

They stay up most of the night and sleep in the next morning. The light filters in through the half open curtain, and Sasha can hear tree branches scratching against the window. The room is warm, the bed warmer, and the body she’s wrapped around warmer still.

Mikasa’s entire back is a canvas, an explosion of color twisting up from below the waistband of her underwear, all the way up over her ribs and shoulder blades. Sasha’s never gotten a chance to look at them, though she’s seen one of the feathers peeking out over her shoulder, and the one time she’d gone to an MMA she’d nearly fallen over trying to figure out what was what. But now she can trace the spill of feathers on her right shoulder blade, and the small knife behind her heart, and the pillar along her spine. There are smaller things, too -- dates, initials, a few lines of poetry. She can feel the heat rush up in her cheeks looking at them, like they’re secrets Mikasa’s inked into her skin that maybe she shouldn’t see.

Mikasa stretches, makes a soft sound still half asleep.

“Sasha?”

They’re both mostly naked and its new, being in bed with her like this, but she likes pressing her chest against her back, likes kissing her shoulder and getting closer.

“Morning.”

“You’re still here,” Mikasa says, turning over.

Sasha presses a kiss to her cheek and says, “where else would I be?”

 

It takes them...time...to get out of bed.

They’ve been going out for a month and a half, but they’ve been friends for longer and this morning feels like a catch up session. It’s lazy -- lazy kisses, lazy stretches, a slow wind up back towards last night, warm and close.

Eventually it’s not that the two of them get out of bed, it’s that Mikasa trips out of the covers in nothing but her underwear to get coffee. Sasha sinks deeper into the covers, a few moments away from dozing when Mikasa steps back into the room, two mugs in her hand. There’s a piece of poetry that runs, dark and black, over her left hip. Or maybe names. Sasha hasn’t parsed it yet.

 

Neither wants to leave the bed, much less the apartment, so finding breakfast is difficult. Eventually Mikasa unearths a couple of pastries somewhere in a pastry and they split them in bed over a second pot of hot coffee. The conversation winds down but the silence isn’t strange. Mikasa’s face is turned away from her like she’s fascinated by the play of rain on the window, but -- Sasha feels happy, and the silence feels happy and content, like they’ve said a lot and it’s sitting between them, unpacking itself.

“Can I ask?” she says, later.

Mikasa looks down at her, smile still playing at the corners of her mouth, and raises an eyebrow.

“About the tattoos?”

There’s a flicker of something over her features, and her lips press together, like she wants to keep the words in.

“Ah--” she starts.

“You don’t have to,” Sasha says quickly. “I know they’re...personal. It’s a lot to ask.”

There’s a different smile -- and Sasha is learning how many different nuances there are to Mikasa’s mouth, to the curve of her lips and the way she bites the inside of her cheek when she doesn’t want to speak. But this smile is appreciative, grateful. Happy.

“Maybe another time,” she says, and combs her fingers through Sasha’s hair. “They’re...heavy. I don’t want to talk about those sorts of things today.” And Sasha will unpack that later, what it means that all of Mikasa’s tattoos are heavy, moments of her grief caught under her skin.

But for now she says, “I think they’re beautiful,” and kisses her hip.

 

Sasha learns to love the sound of Mikasa's voice tangled around the letters of her name. It's not a hard lesson -- it's learned with her hands braced on either sides of Mikasa's head, with the feeling of her fingers digging into her hips, punctuated with deep breathes and long sighs.

By the time the rain's cleared, Sasha's lost all shyness, stops bothering to stifle the words piling up in her throat. She's learned that Mikasa likes being teased, likes the feeling of lips trailing slowly over her stomach, loves tugging on Sasha's hair whether they're kissing or not. And Sasha likes watching the slow ways Mikasa falls apart; the ways she loses control of pieces of her self the more far gone she is, the breathier her voice gets, the way she winds down, her limbs sinking into the mattress. She always sighs and reaches for her, as if she needs anchoring.

Their noses bump and Sasha leans her forehead against Mikasa's. "Did you hear the door?"

Mikasa lets out a huff of laughter. "Probably Eren."

"Your brother?" Sasha says, and feels the very beginnings of horror.

"Whatever he heard, he deserves it," she says, quiet and vicious. "He and Armin are worse." Sasha pauses and then throws her head back laughing. Mikasa's answering grin blossoms over her face, surprised and delighted. It's not the first real smile Sasha's seen on her face, but it's the first grin, the first time she lets it light up her eyes and take over her face.

 

At some point they decide to get in the shower. Mikasa sets out towels and toiletries. They're close in size, so she digs up a pair of jeans and tshirt for her to wear, too. When she turns to leave, Sasha grabs her hand and grins.

They don't. They could end up having sex against the shower wall - or trying at any rate. But they're both tired and the water is warm and there will be other chances. Instead they end up standing under the water, Mikasa's arms slung over her shoulders from behind, her chin balanced on her shoulder. Neither says much.

Later, Sasha washes shampoo out of Mikasa's hair, but not before trying to lather it up into spikes.

 

“Do you want to get dinner?” Sasha says, and shuts the door of the refrigerator. “I would offer grocery shopping, but I don’t think we’re at the part of our relationship where you can watch me steal donuts from the bakery.”

Mikasa leans her head over the back of the couch. “There’s a Chinese place a couple blocks from here. I can call ahead--”

“No let’s do take out. I bet there’s a movie we can watch. And just stay in.”

Mikasa nods slowly, as if she’s putting pieces together in her head, and then smiles. “Yeah. That sounds like fun.”

 

They stop at Sasha’s apartment first at Mikasa’s suggestion.

“I know you won’t wear anything tonight. But you probably want underwear.”

It’s only after they step into the foyer that Sasha runs through all the different things that might be wrong with her apartment. Food out. Laundry everywhere. Gym clothes strewn over her couch. It’s not that she’s messy, but that she’s busy between school and the coffeehouse and she hasn’t had time --

“Just...wait here. Where it’s clean.”

“But--”

“We’re going to pretend that my cool studio apartment is cool. And clean.”

“I want to see it at some point,” Mikasa says and leans against the door. “But I’ll wait here.”

Sasha breathes a sigh of relief. “I’ll be two seconds.”

After, when they’re walking back to Mikasa’s, Sasha thinks, _I could do this everyday_. She thinks about holding hands with Mikasa on her way home, and wearing her sweaters, and sitting on the couch watching movies. She thinks about waking up on Sunday mornings, lazy and tired and drinking coffee in bed, and walking to class together. And she tucks herself against Mikasa’s side, and watches the way her eyes widen just a little in surprise, the way her whole face settles into a smile.

_I could definitely do this._

 


End file.
